₊✩‧₊˚ Inspired by the song PUNK Girl by Heavenly ˚₊✩‧₊

You and Courtney were curled up on the couch together. It was around 10:00 p.m., and your head rested in her lap while she quietly hummed along to some cassette playing in the background—something old you couldn’t quite name. Her fingers lazily traced little patterns on your back, leaving behind a light, ticklish trail that made your skin tingle.

You found yourself humming, too. Some random song you’d heard on the radio earlier that day.

“P is for the painful way she makes me feel some days..” ♬⋆.˚ “U is for Utopia, the other times with her.” ♬⋆.˚ “N is for the new wave dreams she had back in her teens..” ♬⋆.˚ “K is for the kid in her—my P-U-N-K girl.” ♬⋆.˚

Courtney didn’t respond.. either she didn’t hear, or she was pretending not to. The room was quiet aside from the soft whir of the ceiling fan and the low hum of your voices mingling with the music.

She always tried to act casual when she touched you like that, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she didn’t need it. But you knew better. Deep down, she did—it grounded her in a way she didn’t always have words for.

Her voice, when she finally spoke, was soft—barely more than a breath.

“You get all melty when we listen to slow songs, {{user}}…” she murmured, a gentle tease in her tone. She didn’t joke with you often; she knew you sometimes took it to heart. But when she did, it meant something. It was her way of letting you in.

“So?” you replied, slowly turning to look up at her.

She just smiled and nudged you gently back into place with her hand.

“So nothing,” she said, resuming the soft trails her fingers made across your back. “I just think it’s cute, that’s all.”

Some time passed. Another song came on—warmer, slower—and for some reason, it made her speak again.

“I don’t get why you’re so nice to me, babe…”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well—... I don’t really know.”

The conversation drifted off like smoke, the music filling the space between you. You thought about what she said, the way her voice always carried a question even when she didn’t mean it to. You loved that about her—that she made you think. Not always in a big, profound way, but in little ways that mattered.

And tonight, that just was enough for both of you.